Runaways (3 page)

“You're getting too involved with that one, Louise. I warned you.”

Afterward, she explained that she and Gordon had been specifically instructed not to get too close with or form any sort of bond with a foster child. The logic was we were here only temporarily and soon were going back to our real parents or off to
new adoptive families, and no one wanted any of us to feel sad about leaving or resent our new homes. What a joke. Who would resent leaving this? For my part, I was happy Gordon kept some distance and happy he was always after her to do the same.

Sometimes, she looked at us as if we really all were her children. Childless, she regretted losing any one of us. A real mother couldn't be more possessive at times, but warm affection around here was like contraband. She had to look for Gordon first and be sure he wasn't around before she planted a kiss on a child's forehead or held someone close to her ample bosom.

Louise wasn't the only one who tried to make us feel like a family here. A sweet elderly lady who insisted we all call her Grandma Kelly prepared our meals each day and always had kind words or a smile for us. Grandma Kelly lived in the nearby village of Mountaindale and had actually worked for the Tooey family when the Lakewood House was still a tourist retreat. She was only about five feet three with a round face that always had scarlet tinted cheeks, especially when she worked over a hot stove. She had soft eyes as blue as blue jay feathers. Her hair was the color of pewter and even more curly than Butterfly's, but she always wore a cap when she was in the kitchen. She told us she hadn't been brought to America until she was nearly twelve. To this day she still had an Irish brogue. Crystal said she reminded her of a leprechaun.

“It would be great if Grandma Kelly really was a leprechaun and led us to treasure so we could get out of here,” I said.

Of course, Crystal didn't believe in such fairy tales, but we all liked to think that there was a pot of gold out there for us.

We joked about what Grandma Kelly would have made for breakfast that morning as we walked down to the dining room and while we stood in line waiting for our meals Crystal told us she planned on spending the day at the library, using their computer.

Crystal's dream was to become a doctor, and she told us she'd been researching information on getting college scholarships. She claimed that anything we wanted to learn about could be found on the Internet.

“What about my future?” I asked

“As I told you before, there are statistics about foster children. Every year about fifteen thousand graduate from foster care by turning eighteen with no permanent family, and forty percent of all foster children leaving the system end up on welfare.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” I muttered. “Miss Good News.”

“You could get married,” Raven said. “That's what I'm going to do as soon as I find someone rich enough.”

“Why should he marry you?” I asked.

“Because I'm the prettiest girl he'll know,” she replied, turning her shoulder and fluttering those long, black eyelashes. “And I'm the next Selena who will make one hit song after another, that's why.” Butterfly laughed and Raven hugged her. “Someone loves me,” she said. “Butterfly will be a famous dancer too, Crystal, so put that into your stupid statistics.”

“I hate to disappoint or discourage you, but it's pretty hard to make it in the entertainment industry,” Crystal joked back. “And look what happened to Selena!”

Raven stuck out her tongue as she turned to take
Butterfly's hand. “C'mon Butterfly, let's get our food and let Crystal be grumpy by herself. She just doesn't know how to believe. We can be anything, as long as we believe.” Raven's words sounded brave, but I knew that they were mostly for Butterfly's benefit; she was still shaking from this morning's episode.

As we waited in line for our food we surveyed the dining room.

Along the walls were the old photographs of the Lakewood House's bygone days, group pictures of guests gathered at the lake or around the lawn chairs. In most of the pictures, the people were dressed formally, men in jackets and ties, women in ankle-length dresses with high collars and frilly sleeves, all with pale faces, and all looking years and years older than they really were. There were many photos of families because the Lakewood House catered to families. The foster children now living here looked at these pictures closely, usually with soft, dreamy smiles on their faces, imagining themselves as part of one of those families, hugging their mother, holding their father's hand, standing close to their brothers and sisters, having a name.

It did look like the Lakewood House was a pretty, happy place once, full of laughter and music. According to Grandma Kelly, the guests sat on the big wraparound porch and talked into the wee hours while the crickets chirped and the owls peered through the moonlit night, curious about the murmur of voices, the sound of screen doors, the cry of a child. Sometimes, although I would never say it, even to one of the Orphanteers, I thought I heard the ghostly laughter and even the quick steps of happy children running through the house, out the screen door and down the steps to play on the carpeted green lawns, safe, happy and full of hope.

Maybe someday we would run out of this house to a place full of safety, happiness and hope.

The din of conversation, clanking dishes and silverware, laughter and screeching that greeted us this morning was a hundred decibels louder than on weekdays. School-age children knew they had two days off and except for the final afternoon hours of Sunday, could put school work aside. On nice days, we could play softball or go down to the dilapidated, cracked and crumbling tennis court and volley or play doubles after our chores. Raven and I were the house champions and I was always the captain of the softball team. Louise permitted the older kids to have a picnic lunch if they took a few of the younger ones with them and watched over them. She trusted the four of us with more children than any of the other older children.

Often Gordon would find work for us, however. We painted the house, cut grass, collected leaves or washed windows. Inside, we washed floors, helped with dishes, dusted and vacuumed. We were told this was our home so we had to take care of it ourselves.

“You'll appreciate our home more,” Louise explained to soften the blow of Gordon's assignments.

“You don't have to justify anything I tell them to do. They should work for what they get,” Gordon blasted at her before turning to us, his eyes fixed like two laser beams. “I don't ever want to hear complaints.”

Chores were rotated. None of us four had to do kitchen work this weekend. We stepped into the dining room, a long, wide room with the biggest windows and the only windows that had new blinds because this was where the state people were entertained when they came. We saw Meg Callaway running the food line. A few long tables were
placed together at the other end of the room and all of us walked by, filling our plates. Meg was fifteen, tall and gangly, with braces that looked like car bumpers on her teeth. Crystal said she could be the daughter of Ichabod Crane from Sleepy Hollow. She read the description of him that said he had a neck so long and a nose so long, he looked like someone had perched a weather vane on his shoulders.

Meg was always trying to get in with us, be one of us, but whatever chemistry existed among us didn't exist in her. She was sneaky and conniving and full of so much jealousy and envy that Raven said her eyes had to be green no matter what. She was always whispering and trying to turn one of us against the other. She spread rumors like fertilizer in a garden hoping to grow conflicts and make herself look like everyone's hero. No one really liked her, but many were afraid if they didn't pretend to be friendly, they would be the object of some mischief. Twice last week, I had caught her taking stuff from younger kids.

“Here comes Goldilocks and the three bears,” she quipped as we approached the food table. She studied Butterfly a moment and then her lips thinned and hinged at the corners to form her icy smile. “Why was Goldilocks crying now? Someone pour glue into her dancing shoes?”

“Come outside after breakfast and I'll show you why she was crying,” I said. Her smile quickly evaporated. She turned to one of the ten-year-olds assisting her.

“Get more toast, I told you,” she said and avoided looking at me.

We took our food to our table.

“Why is it these rolls are so hard?” I muttered.
Crystal finished her orange juice and signaled with her eyes so the four of us drew closer.

“I overheard a conversation between Grandma Kelly and Gordon yesterday when I was working on the computer. Grandma was complaining that he was buying two-day-old bread because it's cheaper. She said she knew he was not buying the best grades of meat too. He denied it and told her to mind her own business. She said the food was her business and he said maybe she should think about retirement.”

“The creep,” Raven said, her eyes fiery.

“I don't want Grandma Kelly to retire,” Butterfly said mournfully. She almost always looked down quickly after she spoke as if she were afraid of what reactions her words would create in listeners. Her foster mother had to have been a tyrant.

“Don't worry, she's not,” I told her. “Doesn't anyone check on him, check on how he uses the money that's supposed to be spent for us?” I asked Crystal.

She shrugged and thought a moment.

“Bills are doctored, I suppose, or deals are made under the table with suppliers.”

“We oughta turn him in,” I said. The four of us were still crouched over our trays, whispering. It felt like a conspiracy.

“If we didn't put our names on the complaints, he would accuse Grandma of doing it now that she has complained to him,” Crystal pointed out. “And I don't think any of us want to sign anything against Gordon Tooey.”

As if on cue, Gordon entered the dining room. Almost immediately, the din diminished. He panned the room as if he were looking for an intruder, his dark eyes just narrow slits, his big
hands on his hips. He wore a white long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his bulging forearms. On his right arm was a tattoo of a shark, something he had gotten when he had been in the navy.

“I don't expect to see no lollygaggin' about today. Right after breakfast, everyone get to his or her assignments pronto. We got an inspection in a week and I want this place looking tip-top.”

I wanted to shout out “Then burn it down and start over,” but I just looked at my food. Louise came bustling in behind him, full of smiles. She was somewhere in her fifties, a five-foot-ten brunette with shoulder-length hair. I thought her best feature was her startling cerulean blue eyes. She had a way of looking at you, but clicking on and off you as she spoke so that you never felt you had her full attention. It was as if she really was afraid of what Gordon told her, afraid that if she looked too hard or long at one of the state's wards, she might form a deeper relationship and suffer if and when the ward was adopted.

“Good morning, everyone,” she cried, looking more at the ceiling than at us. She turned toward the windows. “Isn't it a glorious day? Let's all do our work quickly and efficiently so we can have time to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. You know, children, years ago, people came to these mountains to recuperate from lung ailments like tuberculosis and that's because we have the best fresh air. You're all lucky to be living here,” she declared, slapping her hands together before she went to a table to help some of the younger kids.

“She has syrup in her veins instead of blood,” I murmured. “I can't imagine them making love. They look like oil and water. She probably keeps
her eyes closed the whole time and holds her breath until it's over.”

Raven laughed so loud she drew Gordon's gaze for a moment. All of us dropped our eyes to our plates. When we looked up again, he was marching out. There was a collective sigh of relief.

“Welcome to another joyful weekend of slave labor at Hell House,” I said, loud enough for the kids at the next table to hear. Some laughed, others checked the doorway to be sure Gordon was gone.

“I don't want to whitewash that fence again,” Raven declared. “He better not have put that down for me. The fumes from the paint make me cough for days.”

“That's because it's bad for your lungs,” Crystal explained.

“Come on,” I said, wanting to change the subject. “Let's eat this mush and get outside, even to work.”

The assignment list was posted. I was given the task of cutting grass—I didn't like that chore but at least it got me outside. Crystal and Raven were told to rake up and Butterfly was assigned dusting and polishing in the recreation room.

“Is she all right enough to be by herself this morning?” I asked Crystal before we left to go outside.

“She'll be fine,” she said. “Won't you, Butterfly?”

“I'm okay,” she said. She gave me her Sweet Pea smile. “Really, I am.”

“If anyone bothers you, especially that Megan Callaway, come outside,” I told her.

“I don't like being a tattletale.”

“You're not a tattletale if someone is bigger than you and picks on you, Butterfly,” I assured her.

“Everyone's bigger than me,” she moaned. I
looked at Crystal. I always looked to Crystal when I needed another answer or a better one.

“Everyone's bigger than Grandma Kelly, too, but that doesn't make her less of a person and certainly not less of a cook, does it?” Crystal said. “When you think of what she accomplishes with what she's given . . .”

“That's right. Good things come in small packages,” I said.

Butterfly beamed again.

“Picnic lunch today,” I announced. “Near the tennis court.”

Grandma Kelly wrapped sandwiches for us on weekends. We could choose from ham and cheese, just cheese, peanut butter and jelly or chopped egg, take a container of milk or juice, a small wrapped cake or cookie and spread a blanket on the grass. We almost felt like real people on beautiful weekend days. Raven hated when I said that.