The Truth about Us (6 page)

I hurry toward the dining room and rush around to get orders out, and when I hurry back to the kitchen, Kyle and Flynn are walking toward me. I step one way and Flynn steps the same way, and we do the awkward dance of stepping to the same side and then back. He laughs and then holds out his hand. “Go ahead.”

I smile at both of them, lower my eyes, and slip past as they take a seat in my section.

“Jess,” Sunny calls to me as I'm grabbing bowls of soup. “Don't mess with the people here,” she blurts out. “You are not near good enough for that boy.”

And then she's gone. A shiver goes up my spine.

After my shift, Stella asks Wilf to walk me to the bus stop.

“It's still daytime,” I tell her. “I'll be fine.”

She insists. “Don't want your dad complaining to me later,” she says. “Wilf doesn't mind.”

Wilf waits for me at the door while I get my stuff from my locker. “You really don't have to walk me,” I tell him. “God.”

“You don't have to call me God, love,” he says. “But something tells me you might need a little assistance figuring out which bus to take.”

I roll my eyes as we walk together through the kitchen, not wanting to admit he's right. He's kind of fragile-looking, but he opens the front door and waits for me to walk through. There's a group of men sitting on the stairs out front. I try not to cringe at the smell and then recognize one of them and strain for his name. Martin. Same name as my dad. I have lots of tricks to remember people's names.

“Bye, Martin,” I call nervously when he grins at me with half a mouthful of teeth.

“Thanks for the extra sandwich,” he calls and bows deeply. “I feel like I went to heaven today. 'Cause you're a real angel.”

The old guys with him groan and make jokes. I smile to show I'm perfectly calm. I don't want to acknowledge my conviction that I don't belong here. That I feel uncomfortable because I live in a different world. A better one.

“That was nice,” Wilf says when we're out of earshot. It takes a while. He moves pretty slowly.

“What?” I ask, watching a younger man leaving the building. He's carrying a construction hat under his arm and has on steel-toed boots.

“Remembering his name.”

I lift a shoulder. “I'm good with names. Hey. Does that guy work?” I ask.

“Lots of people who come to New Beginnings work,” he tells me.

“So why are they here then?” I wondered the same thing about Flynn's mom.

“You've haven't seen much of this world, have you, kiddo?” he asks.

“I've seen enough,” I snap.

He doesn't say anything, but his expression changes. I feel kind of bad, but he doesn't know me. He's making as many assumptions about me as he thinks I'm making about others.

“How come you volunteer?” I ask.

“Not because my dad makes me, that's for sure,” he grumbles. And then he looks over at me. “If not us, then who?”

I think about that as we walk the rest of the way in silence, and when we reach the bus stop, he sits on the bench as soon as he reaches it.

“You shouldn't be walking me all the way here,” I tell him. “You're tired.”

He frowns at me. “You think I'm too old?”

“Well, let's say in your day, I think rainbows were in black and white.”

He chuckles. “I admit I'm at the age where I pick my cereal for the fiber content, but you're still at the age where you pick your cereal for the toys.”

“Funny,” I tell him. “As in not funny at all.”

“You have sass,” he says. “And I think you use sarcasm to keep people from looking too deep. You remind me of someone I used to know. In spite of yourself, I've decided to like you.”

I turn my head and pretend to be watching for a bus so he doesn't see that his comment pleases me. “How do you know I'm not just mean?” I ask.

“Because your remember people's names.”

A bus is pulling toward us, and he tells me it's the right one. He gives me instructions on transferring to Tuxedo as the door opens. “You have change?” he asks.

“I'm a spoiled rich girl, remember?”

“We all have burdens to overcome,” he says.

The door closes behind me, but I see him watching me from the bench, and he's smiling.

• • •

Over the next while, Flynn brings Kyle in for lunch almost every day. He usually drops in before the lunch service to help out, and Kyle hangs out with me while Flynn works. My new best friends are a five-year-boy and a grouchy seventy-five-year-old man, and Flynn, well, I'm still figuring out what he is to me. The days he doesn't show up, my shift goes by a lot slower.

The air between us is easier now, almost like friends. New friends but real. Not the fake, party kind of friends I've chosen to be around since Penny and I stopped hanging out. And not the easy friendship of a five-year-old boy or my love/hate relationship with Wilf.

I suspect I may have a crush on Flynn but try not to think about it too much. It's not only because he's super easy on the eyes, but because when we talk, and he asks questions, I feel like he listens to the answers. And sees who I am. And thinks that maybe I'm not that bad after all.

I'm getting to know the other volunteers at the shelter. Most of them are older than me, way older, but they mostly treat me like an equal, not a bratty kid, and they don't question my reasons for being there, so I don't mind. I hear bits and pieces about why they work there. “We all have sins to atone for,” Stella told me one day when she was in a rare talkative mood. It's nice to know I'm not the only one.

I recognize most of the regulars now too. They're polite and gracious, and I begin to realize they're just regular people who are a little down on their luck. I keep my fears and silent judgments buried as deep as possible. As I see the guests trying to have some dignity in tough circumstances, it's easier to chat with them with respect. I can call almost all of them by name. It's a secret source of pride, since Wilf pointed out it meant something.

Wilf keeps walking me to the bus stop because I refuse to bring the Audi to work. Mostly I enjoy that taking the bus makes my dad nervous. But also, it's an Audi. That's begun to embarrass me a little. For a lot of different reasons.

Dad comes and goes, but he's mostly away. I've seen my mom and we exchange small talk, but she still spends most of her time in her room. Allie is like a ghost whose memory lingers in the house but who I never see anymore. She's either working or at “Dana's.”

I actually start looking forward to work, because without a phone I have no social life, and no one even tries to get a hold of me. I use the computer in Dad's office to go online, and most of the time end up googling things like poverty. My eyes are open to a lot of things I didn't know about being poor. I always knew my family had money, but it always seemed like everyone else did too.

By the middle of my third week, I'm staying at work later and even sneak into the greenhouse before my shifts start up. One morning, Wilf surprises me when he comes up behind me.

“Hey, Chickadee,” he says, and I drop the cloth I'm using to clean leaves on an ivy plant.

“You trying to kill me?” I ask as I bend to pick it up, and he smiles.

“If I were trying to kill you, you'd already be gone. I'm a retired lawyer, remember? We have ways of making things happen.” He doesn't crack a smile, but it's his teasing voice.

I roll my eyes at him.

“You keep rolling those, they're going to roll right out of your head.”

I laugh out loud.

“Listen, I can't walk you to the bus today. But I asked Flynn to do it for me. That's not going to be a problem, is it?”

There's a fluttering in my stomach, and then a rush of adrenaline shoots through me. My flight response? Am I afraid of Flynn? I shake my head. Of course not.

“I didn't think so.” Wilf walks toward the shelf where he keeps his gardening tools and starts whistling Johnny Cash's “Ring of Fire,” which I recognize, thank you very much, but choose not to believe is aimed at me and my crush that Wilf seems to notice.

I'm nervous all through the lunch service and make Wilf serve Flynn and Kyle. While trying not to notice them, I spill most of a bowl of soup on Martha, an old regular who always wears layers and layers of clothes despite the summer weather. Her trench coat is wet, but she pulls it off and pats my arm and tells me not to worry. “You remind me so much of my daughter,” she says, like she says every time I talk to her. I wonder where her daughter is and why she's alone on the streets now.

Finally lunch is over and I'm cleaned up, and Flynn slides up to me after I come out of the staff room.

“I left Kyle with Stella so I could take you myself,” he says. My stomach swoops with happiness, and in my head I give myself a talking to. It doesn't mean anything. Does it?

I'm quiet as we walk out of the building and trek toward the bus stop.

“What's wrong?” he asks as we stroll. “You're quiet today. Is everything okay?” The air between our arms dangling at our sides seems charged, but I'm pretty sure it's only on my part. I wish there was an easy way to tell if a guy likes you just as a friend or as more.

I tell him about Martha, which is still bothering me, but not as much as worrying about what to say to him. He tilts his head, watching me. “It was an accident, right?”

I nod. “Yeah. But I mean, I spilled on her coat. And she can't get it dry-cleaned or even take it to a Laundromat or anything. I feel so bad.”

A bus whizzes by, but I glance up and it's not the Tuxedo bus.

“Don't worry about it, Jess. I mean, she likes you. I've watched her with you. She lights up when you make a point of going to talk to her. People who live like us”—he points to himself—“we don't get as attached to material things. Especially when they're coming from donations.”

“You don't live like Martha,” I'm quick to say. Defending him.

He stares at me as we walk. “Well, I may not live on the street. But we have a lot in common.”

I like Martha. I'm not trying to insult her. But still. “No,” I blurt out. “You're different.” We reach the bus stop. “You won't need New Beginnings forever.” And then I duck my head, not wanting to insult the people who will. “What I mean is, what you have doesn't matter. I mean, it matters. But it's not who you are, not what you have. You're more.”

He stops beside me. My words hang in the air. Have I stuck my big fat foot right in my mouth? Something tickles my hand, and I glance down. He's squeezing my hand and staring into my eyes.

I stop breathing and stare back. I hope the bus is late so I can stay with him longer. He grins. “I like you for who you are, not what you have too,” he says softly and laughs. “Maybe you convinced me not to judge a book by its cover.” He lets my hand go, and I try not to whimper.

“You don't like my cover?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light. But it sounds husky in my ears, husky and slightly desperate.

“I don't have to tell you you're beautiful,” he says.

You
don't?
I think.
Yes, yes, you do.

“Because you are. But you're good people too, Jess. Even if you don't know it yet. I can be completely honest with you. I can be myself. And I really like that. I don't have that with many people.”

It's nice, to be seen with fresh eyes that don't have all sorts of preconceived notions about me. In some ways, I feel like he's looking inside. At the real me. And amazingly, he seems to think I'm okay.

I almost cry when a bus rumbles up behind us. I want him to stay and talk and listen, but I turn and of course, it's the Tuxedo bus. It takes me away from his world and back into my own.

The house is quiet when I get home. I'm floating on air, still reliving every second and every word I exchanged with Flynn. I slide off my shoes and walk through the living room, noticing everything's neat and tidy now, the way Dad likes it. I left the place in kind of a mess this morning, so it's a good thing.

Thank
God
for
Isabella.
Mom hired her for once-a-week cleanups a few years back, when she started doing well in real estate. Then Dad asked her to come in every other day when Mom started spending so much time resting.

I'm dying to talk to someone even if I can't talk about Flynn. I walk to the kitchen, grab the house phone, and dial Nance's number. It goes straight to voice mail. I hang up without leaving a message, because I've already left dozens she hasn't bothered to return.

I head upstairs and stop outside Mom's bedroom, listening at the door and opening it as quietly as possible. She's lying on her side in bed, her face covered by blankets, so I close the door quietly. There's a sound behind me, and someone touches my shoulder. I jump and bump into a framed picture on the wall.

“Looks like Mom's having a bad day,” Allie says quietly. She's behind me, her backpack over her shoulder.

I straighten out the picture. Ironically it's one of me and her when we were about three and five years old. We have on matching pink jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts. Hers says “big sister” and mine says “li'l sister.” She's smiling at the camera, but I'm staring up at her with total awe and love.

“I didn't know you still lived here,” I say.

Between work and her boyfriend, she might as well not. I hate her a little for being able to escape. I walk quickly toward my bedroom, but Allie follows me.

“You smell like Caesar salad,” she tells me. “And garlic.”

“Because I served lasagna and Caesar salad for lunch.” I wonder if Flynn thought I smelled funny too. My hand tingles where he held it. I have an urge to tell Allie about Flynn.

“Dad's really making you work at that place all summer?” She scrunches up her nose, and I press my lips tight.

“Yup.”

When I open my bedroom door, she follows me as far as the entrance and stops. Allie glances around at the heaps of clothes lying on the floor and makes another face. She doesn't say anything about it, even though Allie hates mess. She's like Dad that way.

“Pretty harsh.”

“It's not so bad.”

“Really?” She ponders that. “What'd you do to piss him off so badly? He didn't tell me. I'm guessing it must have involved Nance.”

Allie and Nance have never gotten along, so her assumption doesn't surprise me. I shrug again and flop down on my bed. “He took my cell phone for the whole summer,” I tell her instead of admitting what I did.

“Whoa,” she says. “You must have
really
pissed him off.”

I roll to my side and sit up. “I've never been the perfect child in the family.” I look knowingly at her.

“Trust me, Jess, neither am I. I'm just better at not getting caught when I do things.” She pushes off the doorframe she's leaning on. “Anyway, I'm staying at Dana's tonight. I'll see you later.”

“You mean Doug's?”

She stops and turns back, narrowing her eyes. “No. I mean Dana's.”

“Whatever.” I flop on my back. “It's not like I care, but I'm not stupid. Everyone knows you've practically moved into Doug's house.” The only people who don't know, or who pretend not to know, are our parents. “Has his mom kind of adopted you, or is she grooming you for future daughter-in-law status?” I glance over, and her hands are on her hips and she's glaring at me.

“Shut up, Jess,” she says. She looks behind her, as if Mom might be listening. Fat chance.

I shrug again. “I'm not going to say anything. But just so you know, it's not a big secret.” I pick at a loose string on my comforter. It's getting raggedy and it's juvenile. It needs to be replaced.

“God knows this family loves secrets.” She stares at me, her eyes narrowed. “I sleep in the spare room.” Her face is all tight.

“Whatever.”

“No. I really do. His mom isn't that cool.”

“Yeah. I can imagine.” I don't really blame Allie for staying away, but I miss her.

She sighs. Her shoulders fold in. She looks tired. The same way I feel. “You sure you're doing okay?” she asks softly. “I mean, working there is okay?”

I hesitate. I have an urge to tell her about Flynn. Ask her advice. I want to ask if my crush is inappropriate. But what if she says it is? What if she disapproves? Her boyfriend lives in the right neighborhood and goes to Washington University. He wants to be a doctor. Dad loves telling his work friends about Doug. The only kind of friends he has. Work friends.

“I'm fine.” My words are tainted with bitterness.

“Okay. Stay out of trouble.” Allie is already disappearing.

I stare at the back of her head as she leaves and swallow a sudden lump. I hear her feet stomp as she goes down the stairs. A moment later, there's a muffled voice calling my name.

Mom?

She's awake.

I want to pull the covers over my head but get up and walk down the hallway to her room, take a deep breath, and open the door. “Hey,” I say. “You okay?”

She's sitting up on the edge of the bed, her feet on the floor. “Jess?” She smiles softly when she sees me. “I'm glad you're home.” The smile doesn't reach her eyes. It never reaches her eyes. “I was having a rest. But I'm up. Your dad's gone to Houston. What about Allie?”

“She's gone to Dana's,” I tell her.

She pushes herself up. “I'm hungry. Want to get something to eat?”

I don't. I want to go to my room and listen to music on my headphones and think about Flynn.

“Sure,” I tell her.

“How about some soup?”

“Sure.” I follow her as she slowly makes her way downstairs to the kitchen.

• • •

Mom stands in front of the stove, stirring the can of soup. I lean against the counter, watching her.

“I miss the fresh soup we used to make with vegetables and herbs from the garden,” she says.

I turn and open the cupboard and take out a couple of bowls. I'm not sure if she's blaming me or herself for that. We had a great garden once. When I was a kid, we searched and searched “for Jess's thing.” She assured me we would find it. We tried dance and piano lessons. We signed up for Judo. When I was about eleven, she encouraged me to grow some things in her garden to enter into the Lavender Festival. I took it way too seriously and spent the spring testing soil types and googling plants. Later that year, I grew my first herbs. My thing turned out to be a green thumb. Not anymore. When she gave it up, so did I.

But then I imagine Wilf's greenhouse and hide a smile. Maybe it's growing back.

I grab a couple of spoons and then put the dishes on the table and sit down, watching her. Her hair is in a ponytail, and she looks pretty even without makeup, but her glow has dimmed. Compared to Nance's mom, she's starting to look weathered. Of course, Nance's mom has regular appointments with filler needles.

“So how's it going at New Beginnings?” she asks as she stirs the pot.

“Fine,” I tell her. “I'm actually starting to like it, but don't tell Dad or he might make me quit. He hates to see me happy.”

She shakes her head. “That's not true”

How
do
you
know?
I'm tempted to ask.

She sighs. “Maybe working at New Beginnings is a good thing. I mean, your dad has good intentions. He wanted you to realize how much we have.”

“Yeah,” I say, thinking of Flynn.

“You feel safe there, on your own?”

I glance up quickly.

“I mean, the people are…okay?” she asks.

“Most are really nice actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Some of them are going through a hard time.” I pick up my spoon and study it as if it holds answer. “Some have addictions, but the staff is strict. People who are drunk or high can't come in. They have to go to another shelter in town. Anyhow, I usually get the family tables.”

“Kids?” she asks.

“Yup.” I think of Kyle and his trains.

“That's sad.”

“Yeah. Some of them have jobs, you know. Parents. Single people too. And they still can't make enough to cover food.” I think of Flynn again. “I've been doing research on poverty. It's crazy how many Americans live in poverty.”

“Bring the bowls over here,” she says. I pick them up and walk to the stove. She has a thoughtful expression on her face. “For sure, not everyone is as lucky as we are.” She must see my surprise, because she actually laughs. “I mean, not everyone has money and everything they need. We have so much more than enough.” She ladles soup into each bowl. “Things would be worse if we didn't have your dad and his security.”

I don't say anything but take the bowls to the table.

She follows me. “I could be there. On the streets. If it wasn't for your dad.” She sits, and I put a bowl in front of her and frown.

“Mom, that's not remotely possible.”

“No, really. I'm a mess. Not working. Not coping. I've been thinking about it lately. The people you're working with. I should be ashamed of myself for my behavior. When other people have to deal with so much more. If it were just me, well, I might be there too.”

I push my bowl away, my appetite gone. “It's not just you,” I tell her softly. “And you have a lot to deal with.”

“Yeah, well, probably no worse than some of those people you're helping,” she says.

I tug on my earring, turning it around and around with my fingers, trying to think of the right thing to say. Or at least not the wrong thing.

She eats her soup in silence and, after a few bites, pushes her own bowl away.

“You want to go for a walk, Mom?” I say. “Around the block? Get out, get some fresh air?”

She stares at me, her lips pressed tight, then slowly, she nods her head.

I hold my breath. This small thing. It's big. I can't remember the last time she's gone outside the house without Dad at her side.

“Really? I mean, great!” I try to act natural, not overreact. I wish Allie were still here so she could help me deal.

“You don't mind if I go like this?” She points down to at her yoga pants. They kind of hang on her, but they're clean. She's wearing a “Life is Good” T-shirt. It's old.

“Not if you don't mind if I go like this.” I'm still in my work clothes that apparently smell like Caesar salad and garlic. I wouldn't mind putting on something else, but I don't want to risk her changing her mind.

“You look perfect.” She stands and reaches for my hand. “Leave the mess. We'll clean it up when we get back.”

She pulls me up from my seat and squeezes my hand. Hers is smaller than mine. Fragile. She lets go, and we walk to the hall closet. She pulls out sneakers, and I slip on my shoes.

When we walk into cool evening air, we both see the little girl next door sitting on her driveway. She glances up and smiles. I walk over and Mom follows me.

“Hello, Carly,” Mom says. I'm surprised she knows the little girl's name. Her family only moved in about a year and a half ago.

“Hey! How are you?” I ask. Carly's drawing a lopsided hopscotch game with blue chalk.

“Good.” She glances at my mom with suspicion and doesn't say anything but looks back at me. “It works,” she whispers loudly.

I bend down to her level. “Brave Monkey?” I whisper back.

She nods.

“I told you so,” I say. And then I wink at her. “I'm glad.”

“I get to see my dad tomorrow,” she tells me.

I nod and stand. “That's awesome.”

We leave her and walk down the driveway to the street.

“How's Carol?” Mom asks. A safe topic.

Aging backward? In appearance and maturity level. The best I can do is shrug.
She's gone too
, I want to say. “She's okay. I haven't seen her for a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah. What happened?” she asks. “I know about the dress, but there's more.”

I lower my eyes. “I'm sorry about that. We returned it. I had to pay the shipping costs.”

“I know,” she says without a lecture. She's letting me off the hook a lot easier than she should. “What happened at Nance's? Your dad was furious, but he wouldn't say why.”

I glance at her. Should I lie? To protect her? I'm tired of pretending, sinking under the pretenses. A good dose of the truth might not be bad for either of us. “Nance and I were drinking. And we got caught…um, sunbathing topless. On her deck. She always FaceTimes boys. Topless,” I admit. To punish her? I'm not sure.

I hold my breath, pretending to find the house we're passing interesting. It looks like all the others though, oversized and overly manicured and kind of empty.

She doesn't say anything, and I'm afraid I've given her too much too soon, but then she puts her hand over her mouth, and I realize she's laughing. I stop walking, and she has to swallow and take a deep breath. “It's not funny. Not really. It's just that I saw that coming since Nance was little. She was always taking off her clothes at inappropriate times. She'd go to the coatroom at day care and strip down.”

I smile, remembering, and she smiles back.

“Of course, back then you didn't join her,” she adds and wipes off her grin. “And you really shouldn't be drinking.” It freaks me out a little. This is not the mom I've been around lately. She looks straight in my eyes, so I lower my gaze to the sidewalk.

“That's not like you, Jess,” she says.