The Graham Cracker Plot (15 page)

“Welcome! Or should I say ‘welcome back'?” Her voice was singsongy but it had an edge, like when Grandma's mad at me, but she doesn't want to show it because grandmas don't yell. Ashley glided inside, hugged Mrs. Gunderson, and kissed her cheek. Ashley stretched out that hug until she'd said everything she wanted to say. “I am so, so sorry, Mrs. Sundergun. You are lovely, like a flower, and so is your house. It was a terrible, terrible turn of events. And I am so, so sorry. We were under terrible pressure, but we were wrong. So, so wrong.”

I could so, so tell Ashley was full of crap.

Mrs. Gunderson pried herself loose. “Thank you.”

“So, so lovely.” Ashley squeezed her hand.

“Well,” Mom said. “Let's get started. I didn't bring supplies, just people power, like you asked.”

Ashley leaned against the window. “Is that Mr. Sundergun?” A man in a baseball cap was trimming weeds along the old fence by the barn.

Mom tapped her own head and whispered, “She's not quite right up here.” Mrs. Gunderson's mouth formed a big O.

“I'm going to say hello. And apologize.” Ashley glided right out the door.

“The police couldn't tell us much about the … the … offenders. There are so many privacy laws, you know.” Mrs. Gunderson tapped her own head and whispered to Mom, “Are all three of them not quite right?”

Mom sighed. “There are many, many days when I'd say yes.”

Judge Henry, I think everyone I know is not quite right. Myself included.

*   *   *

Two hours later, Ashley and Mr. Gunderson were sitting in lawn chairs, drinking lemonade in the shade. Fred sat next to Ashley while she stroked his ears. Mr. Gunderson came to the kitchen twice to get Ashley more ice. I guess her ice was too melty. Then he came back for a blanket because Ashley was chilly. Then he came back for a lemonade refill, with plenty of ice, and some cheese and crackers. His face was not grumpy at all. In fact, he had a smile from a denture commercial. Extra-white and extra-big.

When I got to the window upstairs, I saw Mr. Gunderson had brought Honey out of the barn so Ashley could pet her. I wanted to break the window and throw the bottle of window-cleaning stuff at her.

Graham stood next to me and looked at Ashley's lovefest. “That ith a bunch of crap.”

Mom came upstairs and called Graham and me into a huddle. “Speed it up. No breaks. No complaining. When Mrs. Gunderson checks your work, look sorry. Really, really sorry.”

“Mom, you should go tell Ashley to get off her butt and help.”

“Ith not fair!” Graham said.

Mom thought about that and shook her head. “I'm not her boss or her County case worker. You two dragged her into this mess.”

Graham said, “Theth not a kid!”

Mom looked at me to translate.

“He means Ashley's an adult.”

“Listen to me. And I mean both of you. Ashley's an adult, but not exactly. Get this over with, and fast. I'm running out of things to say to the church lady and I need a cigarette.” Mom had started smoking again when we ran away. “You know, Ashley seems to like Mr. Gunderson. She doesn't have many friends her age. Ashley's very, very lonely.”

“First, why is everybody using words twice? It's super, super annoying. And second—”

“There is no second, Daisy Bauer. Get your butt back to work.”

Mom went downstairs. I took the church lady's chore list from my pocket. Her writing had big loops and would be pretty if it wasn't listing the things we had to do.

“There's not much left,” I said. “The bathroom and their bedroom. Let's do the bathroom and get it over with.”

Graham cleaned the toilet and the sink. I scrubbed the bathtub, which was the worst job, worse than a toilet, because it had gunky stuff around the sides. A long hair by the drain made me gag.

Graham washed the bathroom floor while I went to the church people's bedroom. I noticed right away. No sparkly white bedspread. In its place was an ugly brown-and-orange quilt. I sat on the bed and rubbed my fingers on the brown square. Rough. Rough and ugly.

I cried a little. Stupid. Why was I crying? I also cried when I saw the church people had a new refrigerator. I was sniffling a lot. When I peeked at Graham washing the bathroom's small window, I could hear him sniffling, too.

Finally, the church lady—I mean Mrs. Gunderson—called us for lunch. This was the horrible part. Having to look at them. Having to talk to them. Learning they're nice people. Feeling guilt, which burns and squeezes your tummy.

Ashley, Mom, and Mr. Gunderson were already at the table. Mrs. Gunderson brought out salad, lasagna, and garlic bread. It smelled delicious.

“Don't fill up.” Mrs. Gunderson smiled. “I made apple pie this morning.”

“You really
are
thurth people,” Graham said.

Mr. Gunderson got all serious. “‘If you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.' That's from the Bible.” He took my hand in his right hand and Ashley's in his left. “Let's pray.” Everyone else grabbed a hand, too. I stared at the table because that's how people pray on TV.

“Lord, thank you for the bounty on our table. And thank you, Lord, for sharing your wisdom with these children. Show them your light, and may they always look to you for guidance.” He lifted his head. “This is such an unusual moment. Let's all say something we're thankful for.”

He looked at
me
first. I had no time to think, and I wanted to say something smart. Mom's frown said “Don't screw this up.” All I could think of was,
I'm thankful for being thankful.
I couldn't let those stupid words out.

An idea came slowly, but it was good. And it was true. “I'm thankful for my mom.” Mom's eyes lit up, and she mouthed words across the table.
I love you
.

Mrs. Gunderson said, “I'm thankful for the gift of knowing how to forgive as our Lord Jesus forgives us.”

Mom said, “I'm thankful our children are safe. I'm thankful they're learning what happens when you screw up.”

Ashley said, “I'm thankful for kindness, for joy, and for lemonade. You are both so beautiful, so, so lovely. I wish I had parents as perfect as you.”

Mr. Gunderson blushed.

And then there was Graham. Mom pre-shuddered.

“I'm thankful we didn't get thot.”

“Excuse me?” Mr. Gunderson said.

Ashley smiled and repeated, “He's thankful we didn't get SHOT.”

Everyone was quiet. Mrs. Gunderson said, “Why don't you think of something positive?”

“I'm thankful we're almost done cleaning. You know thomething? We're cleaning roomth we never even went into.”

Mom nearly sucked her lips into her mouth. “Graham Hassler, you are rude. Try again.”

“Fine! Um … I'm thankful the County ith paying for me to go to a private thchool with more dithcipline so I don't have to go back to our dumb thchool and Jethe Ellman.”

Suddenly he's going to a new school? He learned that in just three days? His mom must have been planning that for a while. Or did he already have a County worker for something else? He hadn't been in trouble for a long time, far as I knew, not since he shoplifted candy last year. Sometimes you don't know the people you know.

Graham seemed pleased with his answer about private school, but nobody spoke or looked at him. Finally he added, “And I'm thankful for my mom.”

*   *   *

And that, Judge Henry, was our day with the church people. I'm thinking that if they could forgive us, and Jesus could forgive us, maybe you can, too.

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

I have decided to like Aaron again.

I'm only telling you what happened because Aaron says you don't rule the federal prison system, just the County. You can't punish him for breaking a prison rule. Still, I sure wouldn't mind if you kept this news to yourself.

Aaron let me see the ex-Chemist today, even though he'd lost visiting and phone privileges, even though I was still on the visiting ban. Aaron put the ex-Chemist in a secret room at Club Fed and told Grandma we'd have fifteen minutes.

I'd asked Grandma why she misled me about the ex-Chemist. I borrowed
misled
from Aaron because it's nicer than
lied to me
. Grandma said, “There's no reason to tell a turkey it's almost Thanksgiving.” When I asked Mom, she said, “What you don't know can't hurt you.”

Those are the dumbest answers I've ever heard. Judge Henry, you're old and hairy and you growl when you talk, but you never use fake words to make something seem better than it is.

Today I got to ask the ex-Chemist the same question.

Unlike the visiting center, this room looked like a real prison. The walls were cement, and you had to squint on account of the low light. Two metal chairs faced each other. The ex-Chemist sat with his back to the door.

Aaron said, “This will be a copy room in a few weeks. We're remodeling.” As if it mattered to us. “Remember. Fifteen minutes. Don't waste it.” The door shut. I walked around the ex-Chemist and sat in the other chair. The ex-Chemist looked blank and thin. His hands squeezed the armrests like he was handcuffed to them, only he wasn't.

Fifteen minutes. Not enough time for nice.

“Why did you lie to me?”

Fifteen minutes. Not enough time for waiting. “Why? Answer me.”

“You're so young. So young.”

“When were you going to tell me? When I was, like, thirty or something?”

He rubbed his forehead. “There wasn't a plan, Daisy. Just day by day. That's how you survive here.”

“Bull crap. How do you think I survive out there?” Since he wasn't looking at me, I didn't look at him, either. He stared at one wall. I stared at the other. “And why were you making drugs? This guy came to our school and talked about getting addicted and stealing and once he left his baby in the car while he went to buy drugs. And one time he took drugs and thought he was a time traveler and walked through a window and cut himself all up.”

“I wasn't really a dealer. It was quick cash and bad timing. Just quick cash, that's all. It wasn't going to be a career. I was looking for a job, a decent job, you know. I really was.”

“If you make drugs, and they're not the pharmacy kind, then you're a drug dealer.”

What else was there to say? I twirled my hair around my finger. Finally he looked at me. I could see his face turn out of the corner of my eye.

“Disappointing you is the worst. Worse than being locked up. And if you decide you don't want to be my daughter anymore … I guess I'd understand, but I'd be lost. Like really lost.”

His voice shook and he gulped a sob. Tears shined up his cheeks. “I'm losing the best years of my life. I'm losing the best years of
your
life.”

“Are these really the best years? Really? Right now? The
best
?”

“In your case, not so much.”

Aaron poked his head in the door. “Finish up, okay?”

“I got three things to say.” My father cleared his throat. “I'm sorry I got mixed up in drugs. I'm sorry I lied about it being an accident and convinced Grandma and your mom to lie, too.

“When I get out of here, it's going to be different. I swear.”

I believed that he believed it. So I nodded.

Then he said, “The third thing—Daisy Bauer, don't you ever, and I mean ever, do anything that stupid again. Ever.”

“Same goes to you. Ever to infinity.”

“Deal.”

He stood up and held his arms out for a hug. Was he sorry? Really sorry? I stuck out my hand for a handshake. When he shook my hand, I could see that his eyelashes were wet.

Aaron opened the door. “Best I can do, guys. Time to go.”

I walked around the ex-Chemist. I needed a hug, so I rushed to Aaron. He didn't look like a guard then. He looked like a big teddy bear waiting for a kid to squeeze his belly. He leaned down, squished me with his big arms, and said, “Six months before you see him again. Six months until another hug.”

For a second, I thought,
Six months isn't long enough!
Immediately I started shaking, like someone put a quarter in my back and pushed the cry button. The ex-Chemist was behind me. He pulled me back against his chest. He squeezed me and kissed the top of my head.

“Will you write me lots of letters? Long ones, with lots of detail, so I know everything that's going on with you? Can you do that? Would you?”

“Yes, I can write letters,” I said. “Real long letters.”

I didn't say anything about my letters to you, Judge Henry. The ex-Chemist thinks all judges are mean and unfair, but he's been wrong about so many things. You
look
mean and unfair, Judge Henry, but I notice you nod when people talk. I think you're really listening. I think you're really reading. I think you're nodding right now.

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

Your timing stinks! You missed everything in the courtroom today because you had that secret meeting with the County people. We waited and waited while you were “in Chambers,” as you called it. Why do you have a Chambers? Isn't that where kings and queens drink tea? I asked Alex about Chambers, and he said it's like your office or something. That's why people are scared of judges. You bang on your desk with a hammer and say weird things like “Chambers” instead of “office” and “juvenile” instead of “kid.”

Anyway, while you “chambered,” someone lit a fuse and it was dynamite central. Remember the old cartoons where cats and roosters set bombs, fall off cliffs, and hit each other with hammers? That's what happened.

Mom, Alex, Grandma, and me sat in the first bench. Behind us were Kari, Graham, and Ashley, who had on her red wig and bright red lipstick. She leaned over the bench and hugged me. “Hey there, flower girl,” she said. “Hey there, dancing queen,” I said.